


Stolen Moment

by Gemenied



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemenied/pseuds/Gemenied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small scene that we definitely didn't get to see in "Waterloo". Boyd and Grace steal a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.
> 
> A/N: Many thanks to Shadowsamurai for the beta - and to all my friends for their support.

**Stolen Moment**

 

This is certainly not the situation where one should engage in such a pastime. If she could have chosen any situation, this wouldn't have been it.

But it is and they are.

Logistically, it seems ridiculous and if she'd have a spare thought, she'd wonder how they are going to physically manage - at their age.

As it is, his tongue is down her throat and his hand in her knickers and she isn't really thinking. She can only feel and what she feels is heat. Incredible heat, setting her body on fire like it hasn't been for God knows how long.

They are a breath away from the end of the world as they know it, and neither can claim not to know that. It was clear when he called her and asked her to meet at his place rather than the office. All very urgent and fraught with tragedy.

She could never say no to him and there's a special kind of kinship between them, so she didn't ask questions, called a cab and here they are. A strategy session away from prying eyes.

They've met, they've strategized, they've worried about their missing team member, and they've sent their younger colleague off to risk his neck by snooping.

And now she's pinned against the wall in his entrance hall, the bulk of his body trapping her against it, and while one of her hand frantically tears at the buttons of his shirt, the other helps his fumble with his belt and zipper.

They haven't come up for air yet, somehow dragging the oxygen in and exhaling in gasps and moans into the other's mouth. Kissing, tangling tongues is more important than the next breath.

Finally, they both tear out of their kiss with a triumphant gasp that's almost lost amidst the swish of his trousers hitting the floor. He moves for her neck, all lips and tongue and teeth. She gives as good as she gets. And even though they are almost feverish, they find the other's pulse points unerringly. His fingers keep their insistent strokes between her legs and by now she's so highly strung that she jerks against his touch with every stroke.

Her own hand encircles him and it makes her grin for a split second when he growls into her neck in response, his fingers moving even faster. He palms her breast and there's little worship and a lot of greed in his touch. But this isn't leisure; it isn't even exploration, so his roughness enhances the experience. There will never again be a time like this, a chance like this, so it doesn't really matter anyway.

She strokes him more insistently, not to be outdone in this frantic, stolen moment. The noise they make is continuous panting, the spiral rushing faster and faster into a fever pitch.

When his hand leaves her, she mewls almost pitifully, pressing her legs together in a desperate attempt to prolong his touch. He smiles at that, and for a moment there's a reprieve in their frenzy as their eyes lock.

He's never seen the blue so intense, so wild, and he realizes for the blink of a second that he could want this again. She's never literally seen fire burning in his eyes and finds it warming and terrifying and every other feeling in between.

They keep their eyes on each other as they tug and push at the rest of their clothes and then they are naked from the waist down. If anybody saw them right now, it would cause them embarrassment not to be lived down in decades, but they are alone in the house and alone in the world for all they care. He pulls her flush against him and for that one moment, every thought and every event outside the space they inhabit is unimportant.

He pulls her leg up, opens her to him, and before they have the time to relish the heated touch of their bodies, he drives himself home.

She screams, he growls, and it's a good thing that there's nobody around to pick up the noise and identify it for what it is.

Their gasps and moans are swallowed as their mouths crash together again, their tongues mimicking how their bodies collide. The sound of flesh slapping against each other, groans mixing with the sticky sound of kisses, the mess of body fluids creates a cacophony of frenzy that borders on animalistic, far removed from their normally sensible and sophisticated appearance.

It only takes a few thrusts - there isn't time anyway, and long and slow was never in the cards - until his body is taut with tension and hers coils, before they both fall over the edge. They cling tightly to each other, fingers practically cramping into his arms and her behind. They rush through their climax silently, poised, as if frozen in the moment.

A minute or so they manage upright, before sinking to the floor, post-coital trembles making their knees weak.

They don't speak, not while they take the time to catch their breaths and recover some physical strength. Not while they search for, don, and rearrange their clothes. There are wrinkles, tell-tale, but nobody will ask. It's not the time for words and what would they say anyway?

There is tension in the house, different than before, but they move back to the places they had occupied in the beginning. For any onlooker, it appears as if nothing has happened, nothing has changed, and in their minds, that about sums it up. Their bodies, and maybe their hearts, are a completely different matter.

When his phone rings, their strange little bubble bursts.

She leans back in the armchair and watches him pace agitatedly. He yells into the phone, then puts it down with the speakers on and yells at the caller. The news is bleak, but that was to be expected.

They are yet another breath closer to the end of the world as they know it, so there isn't really time for reminiscing and indulging in sexual fantasies. It was a moment that won't mean a thing in the grand scheme of things.

But then their eyes connect - even though he's still pacing and still yelling and insisting and pushing - and there's still the fire in his eyes. They are black with intensity and it's not entirely the bleak situation and the worry about their lost colleague and their impossible future. The blue iridescence of hers has little to do with intense focus on the job at hand and finding a way out.

They both know it, which makes it easy to see the shivers that rush over them.

His voice is uneven for the blink of an eye, causing a small smile to flit around the corners of her mouth, and when he sees it, he smiles in return.


End file.
